AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Then take me to the bed.”
I cradle her in my arms, full princess carry, and back out of the shower, careful to dry my feet on the bathmat. She glances at the crisp white towels dangling on the rack as we’re about to pass them. I think, Fuck it. I couldn’t give a shit if we drench the sheets—and we will, one way or another. I’m not putting her down anywhere but that mattress, but I do stop long enough for her to grab one.
She dabs herself with it and sniggers. “Thanks.” Then she kisses me again. It’s a good thing I’ve had so many random one night stands here. I know this suite so well I can concentrate on her without worrying about crashing into anything. I sidestep the bar, avoid the low glass coffee table. Finally, after what feels like miles and miles, we make it to our destination. I place her on the mattress. She tosses me the towel. I stand at the foot of the bed, drying myself as I watch her scoot closer to the ornate gold bedrail and plump a pillow under her head. How can someone be so sexy and so adorable at the same time? I want to devour her. But tonight isn’t just about me. Give her all of you. “What do you want?”
She’s concentrating so hard on me it’s almost as if she’s seeing beyond my body, beyond my sinew and bones, directly into my heart. “I want you to ride my face.”
It’s such a straightforward answer, I don’t know what to do with it. I’m usually the stallion, not the jockey, but I can’t find the words to protest and don’t feel like it, anyway.
I get on my knees, crawl up the bed, up her body—pause to kiss her before continuing on to straddle her shoulders.
She palms my ass and starts off slow, kissing and licking my inner thighs. The second her mouth moves into position, I’m electrified. Her tongue finds my clit and it’s all swift flicks. I inhale the sharpest breath I’ve ever taken and, instead of air, exhale a whimper. That’s all she needs to hear; she reads me like the Sunday Globe and starts to suck. I lurch forward, white-knuckle the metal headboard. It’s all I can do to maintain my balance.
The shift in position allows her an opportunity she seizes with startling expertise. She sneaks her small hand into the space between my body and her chin and glides two fingers into me. Her tongue and her fingers move in cadence. I’m sure this is the closest to heaven I’ll ever get. With every lick and stroke, my orgasm looms closer. I don’t know if I’m way too easy or if she’s way too good at this. Maybe it’s both.
I must be too quiet; dissatisfied with my desperate panting, she goes harder, increases her speed. The cries I let out are not sounds I’ve ever made, just a melody I’ve enjoyed from countless other women. “Fuck, baby, don’t stop,” I command as I lean back, slide my hand down her stomach and between her spread legs. “You’re so wet.” My words sound breathy, more a hiss than human speech. I use my middle finger to trace a circle on her clit. There’s something magical to the whole “coming together” thing. Now that I’ve experienced the high, I’ll be chasing it forever.
She flings her arm down, grabs my wrist. For a second, I think she’s going to pull my hand away. Rather, she presses me against her, asking for more pressure without speaking. Yeah, that mouth is busy. She’s moaning into me. I can feel her trying to concentrate on what she’s doing but faltering as her own climax builds. I don’t need her to work so hard; I’m almost there. I start to ride her in earnest, bucking her mouth. Suddenly, I can feel the universe expanding inside me, white-hot and limitless. “Juliet!” I come so ferociously I swear my soul is shaking. And beneath me, she’s quaking like her body is a fault line. I know she came, still I don’t want to stop. Now she does pull my hand away, the action accompanied by a muffled, “Nuh huh.”
“Guess you’re done.” I stifle a half-pant, half-laugh and try to dismount her with some modicum of grace, but my knees give way and I tumble sideways onto the bed. I’d be embarrassed if I had any energy left. I don’t, so I just let myself laugh. She’s attempting to ride out her quivering and catch her breath simultaneously. My crowing sends that effort straight to hell. She dissolves into a fit of her own. We’re still a bit wet from the shower—from each other—naked as the day we were born and dying of laughter. I was wrong: I’m not falling in love, I’ve plummeted headlong into it. It’s terrifying and wonderful all at once.
She wicks my wetness from her lips, then turns on her side to face me, still chuckling, and pushes my damp bangs out of my face. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down.”
“No. That can’t be,” I reply as my tittering dies away.
“It is. You wear it in a ponytail most of the time, sometimes in a bun when you’ve been, um, working for your dad.”
She’s scary observant. “It’s harder to grab when it’s up. I learned after a couple nasty fights that that’s an occupational hazard.”
She runs a finger over the scar on my bicep that I got years ago from a shady motherfucker with a knife in Chinatown. There’s a subtle shift in her mood. She doesn’t like knowing that I’ve been hurt, or that it’s pretty much inevitable I’ll be hurt again. She’s overcome with a kind of misty, opaque sadness, so heavy that it thickens the air between us. I want to obliterate it with kisses, refuse to quit until I’m sure it’ll never distort her shimmer with its ugliness again. I go with my gut, sling my arm across her torso and pull her to me—kiss her until she’s radiating that custom Juliet warmth once more. When I’ve finished and she’s my Juliet again, I hold her. She presses her face into my cleavage, breathes me in. “Gerutwifme.”
“Huh?”
She lifts her head and repeats, “Go out with me.”
“Like, on a date?”
Her eyes narrow. “Yes, Rowan. Generally, when someone says, ‘go out with me,’ they’re referring to a date.”
It’s not a foreign concept, yet I stare at her, agape. I can see she’s starting to feel stupid for asking and wants to backtrack.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to.”
Shit. “Don’t be ridiculous. I want to. It’s just… Do you really think we could go anywhere in the fucking Commonwealth of Massachusetts without it getting back to our parents?”
She recognizes that I have a point. I recognize that she has a counterpoint. “Who said it has to be in Massachusetts?”
Ha! That mischievous little simper. “You’re kind of devious, aren’t you?”
“I know how to work my dad’s system.”
I contemplate it. “I could swing it. My father isn’t as protective of me as yours is of you. The real problem would be Teague. He’s so far up your ass it’s like he thinks he’s a puppeteer.”
Her hands fly up to her lips. “Oh my God, the accuracy,” she says into them. She’s chortling so hard that her eyes are watering.
I love her laugh. It’s more boisterous than it should be—a noise too big for such a tiny frame. I could listen to her laugh every day for the rest of my life. “Alright, evil genius. What do you have in mind?”
She settles herself, nestles her head against my collarbone. “Mmm. Maine. You and me in a tent on a beach in Maine for a weekend.”
